The Great British Argument
by Len'sMind
Summary: You'd think that as one of the oldest, biggest and most historical counties of England, Northumberland would be remembered a little more. Yet even the man who's fought for her on so many occasions seems to have forgotten her existence. Enough is enough; she finally decides to leave England for good with the help of countries faithful to her. But will he fight for her?
1. Dial Tone

_**All country/county relationships are purely fictional! Some/most of the facts are true, all history I put in will also be true. **_

_**Please excuse my sorry excuse for trying to type accents - I will probably give up sooner or later, but it's worth a try!  
**_

_**This is my first story/fanfiction, so please let me know what you think ^.^ This chapter is a lot shorter than all the others.**_

* * *

Chapter One: Dial Tone

" – and so I don't see why – "

"Wha'? Speak up lassie! Ah can't hear what you're saying because of this scunner!"

" – it's worth us using all that money – "

"Och! Guid things come in sma' bulk, lassie!"

"SCOTLAND!"

England slammed his hand against the table before him, his eyebrows furrowed at his brother sitting across the table from him. The ginger-haired Scotland glared back, a half smoked cigarette poking out from between his lips, his hand moving the mobile he had been talking into away from his ear ever so slightly.

"Whit?" he growled back at his younger brother.

"Would you put the bloody phone down? We're in a world meeting you git!" England gestured around the large table at every other country who was sitting in their rightful seats, looking extremely uncomfortable with the sudden family argument that had arisen.

"Aye! An' I'm on the phone, so shut it 'fore ah get het up!" Scotland yelled back.

"Let's not fight..." Wales muttered from England's side.

"Stop your blather Wales! England, quit acting the maggot!" the Republic of Ireland snarled from Scotland's side, jumping at any chance to have a go at her brothers.

"Stop throwing shapes, Republic..." Northern Ireland sighed, hoping to stop his rebellious twin from getting into yet another mess.

The row escalated inevitably, leaving the rest of the world's countries to sit and sigh at another Great British/Irish argument. Scotland had long forgotten about the person on the other end of the phone, more focused on beating his 'insubordinate' little brother. Republic just wanted to get some punches in against the brothers she'd long broken away from, whilst Northern Ireland tried his very best to keep her from leaping across the table at England.

Wales moved to sit next to someone else (Sealand to be exact) – tired of his bickering siblings.

"Anyone else get the feeling Britain's forgetting ve're in a meeting?" Germany grumbled from his seat.

"Yo Britain! Pipe down would ya?" America laughed as he jumped up to move over to the bickering siblings, waving his hand in front of England's face as if to distract him.

It was now America who Republic turned her anger towards. "An' who you talking to, you gowl? It's like you've forgotten... **I'm not part of that gammy Great Britain!**"

The argument soon escalated – with almost all the siblings bringing up old problems and arguing about who was the better country – and the phone Scotland had been on was lying on the table without a single sound but the dial tone. The person on the other end having finally just hung up.

But not given up.


	2. Forgotten Again

Chapter Two: Forgotten again

With no noise coming through the phone expect that familiar sound of her bosses fighting, the person holding the phone threw it against the wall with a screech of aggravation. The room she was in was empty; her fellow subordinates were hanging out together in the main meeting room waiting for that gobby England to return with the latest news from the world meeting. Not that she'd been invited, of course. On the contrary, she'd been forgotten _again_.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror; her dark hair coming lose from its messy ponytail already, and her green eyes wild beneath those eyebrows she'd just _had _to inherit from the British Isles. Then there was the ugly scar down her chin, one similar to the countless that covered her back from each time she'd been fought over; she lost count of how many there were a very long time ago. Clenching her fists beside her, she gritted her teeth as she felt everything about her begin to weaken.

Honestly, she wished he'd fight for her now.

"Northumberland?"

Her head snapped towards the closed door upon hearing her name. Someone behind it knocked tentatively, and called out again in a soft voice. "I know you're in there, Northumberland. You don't have to hide away, you know?"

Sighing, Northumberland made her way over to the door and opened it to look up at the tall and beautiful frame of her neighbour: Cumbria.

"What?" she growled at him.

He sniggered at her reaction, and pushed his way past her into her room, collapsing onto her unmade bed with a loud sigh. "You're missed in the meeting room," he said as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Aye, by you, maybe," she pointed out blankly.

"True... but do you not want to hear about the idiocy of the southern counties?" Kicking himself upright, Cumbria smiled cheekily at his friend.

Raising an eyebrow and cocking her hip slightly, Northumberland waited for him to continue – but honestly, she knew exactly what he was about to say; it was the same every time they all met up.

"I asked Devon and Cornwall where you were, and they just looked at me blankly and said 'Who?'." Cumbria chortled slightly to himself, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Northumberland just grinded her teeth together in irritation; bearing in mind that she was one of the oldest, biggest and most historical counties in England, you'd think that the others would _remember _her. Nope, instead they all assumed anyone north of Yorkshire was part of Scotland. It was a miracle they remembered Tyne and Wear – who, it should be noted, Northumberland still wasn't happy with after England had given him some of her cities. Newcastle? That used to be hers, thank you very much!

"I should just get gan, might as well. It's choker around here without me hanging around. It's not like anyone wants 'us." She also added 'least of all England' in her own head, but kept that to herself lest Cumbria might think she _actually _cared.

"I want you around!" Cumbria pouted, as if annoyed she was ignoring him.

"Aye, but they actually like you – you're the pretty one and all. I'm just a muckle pain in their backsides."

"Got that right."

The sudden addition of a third – and very unwanted voice – left Cumbria and Northumberland in silence. Both of them turned their eyes to the short boy standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he was oh, so cool. Tyne and Wear was wearing a cocky smile again, and Northumberland was so tempted to beat it out of him.

"Well if it isn't the guy with a dual personality, back to steal some more cities?" Northumberland snarled.

"Calm doon, I just wanted to tell ya that England's back," Tyne and Wear explained whilst raising his palms in a defensive gesture.

Northumberland grimaced, already regretting actually turning up. As pointed out earlier, England had 'forgotten' to invite his most northerly county to this meeting, but Cumbria had pretty much begged her to come along. Honestly, it was more likely Scotland would fill her in on world problems than England; that's why she'd been ringing him – though it was mainly to complain about the fact she'd been ignored again.

"Northumberland?"

Cumbria's call brought her back to the present, and she noticed he was already standing at the door waiting to leave.

"You coming?" he asked.

The options swarmed round her head, and in the end it was her own stubborn nature that won over.

Grabbing the unpacked bag that she'd brought down with her, Northumberland stormed out the room past Cumbria – ignoring his protests as she made her way down the corridors towards the exit of the big building. She wasn't wanted here, so why did she have to put up with seeing that idiot's face? She didn't even know why she'd bothered coming down in the first place.

That was a lie... she knew exactly why she'd come. She just didn't want to admit it.

The doorman jumped in surprise as she tore the front door open and headed down the stone steps to hail a taxi. Grumbling about all the 'damn southerners' under her breath all the way.

"If you hate southerners so much, why come on holiday to London?"

The voice sent a chill down her spine and her grip tightened on the strap of the bag. Glancing to her right, she spotted the very person she was trying to run away from looking at her with an amused look. Damn that England and his ability to appear at the worst times!

Wait, did he say holiday?

Northumberland gritted her teeth again and tried to calm her growing temper. The tool didn't even recognise her. Now she knew how poor Canada felt.

"You... little..." She only just managed to hold in the swear word she was about to add on the end of that sentence. Turning round to face England, she dropped her bag to the pavement and stepped threateningly closer to him – prodding the blonde idiot in the chest sharply.

England's eyes widened, and he quickly stepped back whilst grimacing in pain at the prod, but Northumberland only stepped closer to him again.

"First, ya don't even invite me to the bloody meeting! Then ya go ahead and forget 'us! You're such a douchebag England!" she yelled at him, squeezing her eyes shut so she didn't have to look at his stupid face.

"Cut it out! Jesus Northumberland!" He grabbed her wrists, making her open her eyes to glare at him. It pissed her off that he was only focusing on the scar on her face – that was the only way he ever noticed her. "I... I did invite you... didn't I?"

The only response he received was the narrowing of her eyes.

"Bugger it," he spat. "Sorry, I must have just –"

"Forgotten?" Northumberland guessed. England didn't say anything, as usual. Stepping back again, Northumberland began to march back to her bag, relaying numerous curse words to herself as she went.

"You're leaving?" Sounding genuinely surprised.

"Aye."

"At least listen in on the news; there's stuff that will impact you too. Actually, perhaps you most of all..."

She had to admit, she was curious as to what sort of news would make England trail off so awkwardly like that, and why his face seemed to be showing actually signs of hurt. Yeah, that's the reason she followed him; she was just curious.

As she snuck into the back of the room – not being noticed even though she walked in with England – Northumberland was glad to see Cumbria smiling at her, as if he expected her to return. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, she let her gaze pass over the people now sharing the room with her. All the other Ceremonial Counties (excluding Cumbria and herself) were sitting in the chairs at the front, whilst the others stood behind. Honestly, a lot of the Ceremonials were totally arrogant, and never even acknowledged the others – they didn't like the idea of their boundaries being shrunk out of the usual geographical boundaries... or something. Honestly, Northumberland wasn't affected by it, so she didn't really care.

To begin with, England just went about in his usual drone about the usual crap – mainly the next county elections coming up. At this Northumberland leaned over to Cumbria and muttered, "Think he'll remember 'us this time round?" Cumbria just laughed and shrugged. It was true; Northumberland was the only place not to have local elections last time because they'd forgotten her. Surprise, surprise.

Then, came the bombshell.

"I know that there's been rumours about this for quite a while, but it was official announced today," England's solemn face had brought the whole room to silence. Even Northumberland found herself unconsciously leaning in. "Scotland's becoming independent."

The sounds of the gasps and mutterings around the room didn't even reach Northumberland's ears. She was left gaping at England, who was now looking directly at her. She was closer to Scotland than she was the majority of her fellow counties – hell, he was the only good thing about being stuck in Great Britain. But if he became independent, just like Republic...

"So what? I say we all stand on Hadrian's Wall and wave goodbye to them happily!" one of the Sussex's laughed.

That made her snap.

"You know, some of us are north of Hadrian's bloody wall!" she screamed into the room. All went silent as everyone turned to her, each face saying exactly the same, a thought which Dorset actually said aloud.

"Who are you?"

The anger made her face flush a bright red. This was the last straw, the very last. They wanted to wave goodbye to those north of Hadrian's Wall? Fine. Let them wave, because she'd be waving right back at them on the other side.

It didn't take long for her to grab her bag and storm out of the building for the second time today, but this time she didn't turn back as she clambered into a taxi and ordered it to take her home.

And that home _wasn't in Scotland._


	3. Foundations Laid

__Chapter Three: Foundations Laid

Another punch. This time harder. Followed by another. And another.

The punching bag was suffering today, but it was the only way her boss would let her get rid of all this anger. He'd set it up years ago to prevent her from breaking things or punching people – which she'd done often at the time. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, but she ignored them completely and carried on hitting the bag with everything she had.

"That was a helfy punch like!"

Spinning around at the sound of Scotland's voice, Northumberland couldn't help a small smile creep onto her lips.

"Y'alreet Mr Independent?"

The tall red-head scoffed and made his way towards her, punching the bag behind her slightly as he got there. "It's all happening now lassie..." Scotland's tone was a little more serious than usual, but also softer than Northumberland had heard it in a while.

Dropping her eyes to the space between them, the county seemed to struggle to keep the smile on her lips.

"Congrats..."

Silence hung between them, until Northumberland felt a warm and soothing hand on top of her head.

"'S alright, you'll always be m' wee bairn."

"Pfft, an' who said anything about that? I ain't no 'bairn' y' old bastard."

"Aye..." The hand vanished, and Northumberland looked up too stare at the back of Scotland's head as he walked away. "If y' need anything, just shout."

It was odd watching the distance grow between them, but Northumberland knew that it was only necessary. Throughout all these past years, Scotland and Northumberland had been close – though it was clear in the beginning he didn't want her following him around – but he accepted her as the 'reject English county'.

Turning back to the punching bag, she swung her fist at it once more, letting the _thump_ ring around the room as her hand made contact with it.

"Excuse me, Northumberland?"

Her attention was then brought to her boss as he stood in the doorway, holding a sheet of paper in his hand with an expression that was somewhere between worried and amused – an odd combination to say the least.

She found herself led into his office; where she immediately started slouching in her chair and fumbling with her hair – she hated coming in here to listen to him go on about needless stuff. Besides, nothing happened in her beloved county anyway since she was forgotten so often.

"So, what's this 'bout?" she asked, glaring at him coldly.

Not remotely put off by her mood – as he had grown used to it after all this time – her boss pushed an old looking piece of paper in front of her. She recognised it, but couldn't quite place it...

"It seems that _technically_ Berwick-upon-Tweed is still at war with Russia..."

Northumberland stared at him blankly.

"Huh?"

Sighing, her boss picked up the paper for himself and glanced over it. "In 1853, the Crimean War with –"

"Yeah, I know my own history, I was there after all. Get on with it." Her brows were narrowed now – irritation building quickly.

"Well... back then the declaration was signed by 'Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, Ireland, _Berwick-upon-Tweed _and all British Dominions... but Berwick wasn't included by itself in the Treaty of Paris... so... technically..."

"One of my towns... is still at war... with Russia...?"

Northumberland's boss actually looked scared. Quite rightly too, for Northumberland was possibly angrier than she'd ever been.

"That... bastard..."

_In London..._

England sat at his desk twiddling his pen around his thumb mindlessly. The meeting with the bosses of Great Britain had been even more tiring than usual; partly because Scotland seemed to be in a totally arrogant mood, and partly because he'd been yelled at three times for 'daydreaming'. Honestly, England didn't really have much of an excuse for being so absent-minded; the problems between his counties were getting to him, and he didn't even want to think about the Recession they were still struggling through.

Flicking his eyes over to the telephone beside him, the country actually contemplated ringing someone just for the sake of getting his mind off things. However, even after picking up the receiver, he realised that there wasn't really anyone to call.

He'd known that Scotland would leave for a long time now, so he wasn't particularly shocked by his brother's abandonment, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. It wasn't the sort of thing he'd ever admit – that he was upset by _another _one of his countries leaving him – but when he was alone in his office like this, he was allowed to act solemn.

A sort of muffled commotion reached his ears. Lifting his eyes to the closed door – behind which the noise seemed to be coming from – he was about to call out in question when the doors burst open and swarm of people entered.

Leading the pack was Northumberland.

"What's the meaning of this?" England yelled, standing up to face this mob.

Northumberland marched right up to the desk; her eyes were so set into a glare of hatred that England was momentarily shocked into silence. A similar hush seemed to pass over the rest of the people who had followed the county in, as if they were waiting for her to do something.

"England," The word itself stabbed. "I want my independence."

The world around him seemed to crumble as those words rang around the room. The very same words that a certain Yank had said over 200 years ago. He'd worn the same serious expression than this county now did. And England's heart had dropped in exactly the same way.

"You... what...?" He couldn't make sense of any of it; why would Northumberland just get up and leave like that? Not only that, but become _independent?_ If this was to happen, wouldn't she at least ask to join Scotland?

Northumberland gritted her teeth and slammed an envelope onto the table before England. "I want to become an independent country! I don't want to be part of England any more; I barely am as it is! This is a document encasing our proposed terms; it also states the countries who have promised to support 'us if you don't allow 'us to leave peacefully."

"Countries... support...?"

There was no way. England couldn't be hearing this. The girl before him, the pure and picturesque county he'd raised since he'd unified England, couldn't actually be threatening him like this? How could a county have countries supporting her – and English one at that?

"We'll give you a week to let us know if you're willing to discuss terms, if you refuse, we'll officially declare a civil war."

No. Those eyes weren't joking. This was reality.

People were starting to leave the office; satisfied now they'd seen Northumberland actually do it, but the county stayed glued to her spot, glaring at the person who was meant to be a brother to her. When at last no one else was left in the room, she began to turn to leave.

Reaching out and grasping her wrist, England forced her to turn and look at him; he didn't care if his face looked desperate or pitiful, he just needed to have her confirm it.

"Northumberland... are you... really doing this? You... you can't be serious... right? Tell me you're not serious!"

She looked down to the floor – her glistening emerald eyes refusing to meet his. "I was me own kingdom once, who are you t' say I can't be one again?"

England retorted to the only thing he knew: anger. "After all I've done for you? After all the times I've protected you? You can't be bloody serious!"

"Aye, I'm totally serious!" Northumberland snarled – meeting his stubborn and harsh nature with her own. "You ain't protected 'us at all! You don't give a damn about 'us! If you did, I never would've turned out like this!" She grabbed at the front of her shirt, but England knew all too well that she was referring to the marks that were hidden under there.

"There's no way I'll let you do this!"

"Then fight for me!"

England fell to silence; shocked at the emotion that was filling Northumberland's eyes as she turned to him with that last sentence.

Tears welled up in her eyes; transforming her into the small and vicious child England had first encountered, back when she had asked him to help her with terrified eyes – but this time, he had no idea what she was requesting.

"Fight for me then..." she sniffed.

He couldn't do anything but release his hold on her. Northumberland seemed shocked; probably either at his sudden silence or the realisation that she was crying. Turning away again, she began walking out – a lot slower than before, he noted.

Neither spoke. Neither could. Their stubborn and reserved natures, which were so alike, became the very thing that built up the wall between them. A wall that wouldn't be easily removed; one that would have to be battled and fought until it was demolished.

As the door of his office closed, the wall was complete.

England fell into his seat, staring in horror at the unopened envelope in front of him. Unable to swallow the panic at what was beginning.

He'd once been so great, with an empire that should never have crumbled. But then the sun set and he'd been left completely alone; one by one they'd left him, until even his own sister – Republic – had gone. Even then though, he'd had this band of miscreants who cheered him up with their childish ways. He'd helped them out of their lonely young stages and watched over them through their adolescence problems until they were the counties they were today.

So, they were leaving him too now, huh?

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_**Thanks for all the support so far guys! It really means a lot that you're enjoying it! :) I hope you continue to do so.**_

_**Just thought I should say that Berwick was indeed still at war with Russia (until recently) because it changed hands between England and Scotland so often at the time they counted it as it's own place, but there is debate on whether it was actually ever at war in the first place - I quite like the fact that it was ^.^  
**_

_**More apologises for the accents... :3  
**_


	4. Call me a Traitor

**I****'m sure I don't need to say it again, but I better: All the relations between countries here are fake. We Northerners are actually super proud to be English (we had a massive party when the Queen came to visit, and threw loads of things for her Jubilee). The historical evidence in this chapter, however, is true. I did my research! **

**Sorry it took so long, the next one (should) be sooner! Hope you enjoy it :)**

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Chapter Four: Call me a Traitor

"Someone get some help over here quick!"

Northumberland's voice thundered over the roars of battle. Right in the centre of the bloody massacre, the girl knelt holding onto the groaning young soldier – her clothes ripped and stained with red gore that didn't all belong to her, a certain worrying smudge across her cheek. The boy in her arms couldn't have even been that old; she had no idea why he was out here in the first place, where anyone could be mowed down at any time. He clutched at his side again and screamed – sending Northumberland's whole body shivering in panic.

People could hear her. People could see her. But no one cared. They just thought she was a stupid girl who didn't understand that the boy was already dead. He may have been breathing and crying, but to them he was already dead. All her attempts at saving him were futile, and once she realised this, she buried her head into his shoulder and screamed.

A large hand grabbed at her, pulling her up to her feet. Almost as soon as it did, she was thrown to the muddy earth again. Opening her eyes, she looked up at that deep red hair of the man she hated.

"Aww, the wee bairn is playing oot!"

"Feck off, Scotland!" Northumberland yelled up at the man, wiping the mud from her face and trying to stand up.

Scotland's foot collided with her side and sent her falling down again with a thump. He proceeded to pressing his foot down on her shoulder, leaning in to smirk at her. "Whit was that, bairn? Y' sorry?"

"This... is... _my _land!" She struggled against his weight, but he was still too strong for her.

There was a flash of silver and suddenly more of Scotland's weight was on her. He completely pinned her to the floor, his face not too far from her own.

And a knife pressing against her cheek.

"Ah don' _really _want ta hurt y', but y' just make me _really _angry..." Scotland crooned down to her. As much as she hated it, she could feel the tears brimming in her eyes.

The knife tore through her skin.

The fighting continued. People still yelled. People still died. Nothing slowed even slightly at the sound of the young counties pain-filled scream.

Then it was gone.

Oh the pain was still there, it alone seemed to tear through Northumberland's face, but the knife was gone. As was the weight of the bearer. Clutching her cheek, she clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes together – in too much agony to even attempt to work out what had just happened.

Finally, arms wrapped around her small and bloodied body. A hand pressed her head to a chest – beneath which a heart pounded fiercely. The scent of the man who'd only recently walked into her life filled her.

England.

"Don't you dare touch her, you git," England growled. "You seem to forget that she's _mine_ now."

"Ach, if it ain't the bawpot! Y' ain't even bin around a whole century, an' y' think y' the boss!"

"Keep acting like that, and I'll make sure I'm your bloody boss."

"Whit y' want with this bairn, anyways? Jus' give her here."

England's eyes narrowed and the small fists of Northumberland clenched around his shirt desperately. For him, that was enough to keep fighting – not that he'd been planning to give up. "I promised her I'd take care of her. I'll protect her always. Your days of hurting her are over. I'll fight for her!"

* * *

It may have been her simple attempts to leave the scene, or the searing pain in her cheek that woke Northumberland up. It wasn't a startled awakening, but a slow and dreary one. As soon as she was half-conscious of reality (that consisted of her buried under her thick duvet at home), she winced at the fire that was burning across her cheek – the horror of the past spilling into the present. Sitting up, she let her pale fingers trace the scar on her face – until sooner or later her body remembered the difference between memory and reality and the ache passed.

Pretty much every dream she had was of her receiving one of her many scars – the ones that had scarred much more than her body. However, how long had it been since she'd dreamt of that particular one? A while. The Battle of Carham. Now that was a memory she'd tried so hard to forget, simply because she'd lost, and Scotland had won cruelly – leaving her with her most horrific scar.

The light was pouring in through the window; to which she scowled as she'd forgotten to close the curtains again last night. Her eyes moved over to empty bottle of beer that lay in the middle of the floor – surrounded by the clutter from her last temper tantrum she hadn't cleaned up yet. That was met with a grimace; as she knew fine well there'd be plenty more empty bottles somewhere for her to deal with.

It actually took her a while to remember who she'd been drinking with last night. After all, it had been someone else every night this past week – people seemed to be extremely against leaving her alone for too long, and dealing with an angry Northumberland is much easier when everyone is drunk.

Cumbria, it must have been. That was the only way she would actually have ended up in her bedroom – since if it had been anyone else, she'd have just passed out wherever, but Cumbria always sent her to bed.

Her eyes peered over towards the notice board above her desk. There hung the calendar she'd only recently started paying attention to. She'd only hung it up because it had pictures of all her favourite castles on – this month it was Alnwick; where her boss lived. It was ironic that it was under this picture she'd coloured in one day in luminous orange. (She would have used a more suitable colour, but she was in a rush and the only pen she could find was an orange highlighter).

Today was judgement day.

It was the day it would begin. She just didn't know what would begin exactly... Her birth into an independent country?

Or would civil war actually start?

The idea that her beloved countryside – filled such untouched beauty and life – could become a battle ground today terrified her. Sure, people didn't expect it, but the only thing she loved more than fish 'n' chips and alcohol was her countryside; her beaches and woods, her ancient ruins and historic sites. All of them were so precious to her. Her people too; they may be able to win in any bar brawl, she didn't want to force them into a war.

When she'd first thrown a fit after discovering Berwick was technically still at war with Russia, everyone had tried to calm her – she didn't believe they'd all back her proposal to declare independence. Apparently, though fully aware of how angry her people were at being overlooked constantly, all of the residents of Northumberland were more serious than she'd known. They'd been waiting for her to ask for independence, and leapt at the chance when she gave it to them in a fit of rage.

"Northumberland?"

The door opened.

"He's here."

"Thanks." Northumberland nodded as the messenger left.

Before she'd even truly taken in the information, she was climbing out of bed and rummaging through drawers for clothes. Before she'd processed how afraid she was, she was walking down the echoing hallways. Before she'd even entered her boss' office, she was whispering a plead.

And then she pushed down on the handle.


	5. Tartan and Smoke

_So... yeah... this story... _

_My friend who originally helped me with the story idea got annoyed and told me to write more. So we made a deal. For every character she draws from the story, I write a chapter of this. Sorry it's been like months since I updated this one - I know what I want to happen with the story but I just don't have any inspiration a lot of the time :-P Here it is though! Hope you enjoy the super super short chapter! ^.^_

_Look up JumperxMelon on deviantart for Northumberland's picture! (FF doesn't like links, it seems)_

_Oh! And (because I'm such a great friend...) I shall also tell you all that said friend has just published a book! Yes, yes! You can buy it for 77p on Amazon for downloads onto Kindle, iPads and computers. You should buy it, because both it and she are awesome :-D It's called 'The Traveller with Violet Hair' by ET Ryan. Go now! NOOOOWWW! _

_Love you all!_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Tartan and Smoke**

The chairs kept creaking as people moved. The branches outside the window kept moving in the wind and disrupting the light in the room. The clock on the desk ticked way too loudly. It was all just uncomfortable.

It was strange, standing next to her boss' chair, opposite the Queen of England herself. She was glad the Queen was here; it gave her someone to look at instead of the person who stood beside the woman's chair. Whenever she dared a glance at England, Northumberland wasn't surprised to see him staring at the floor – not even bothering to look at her.

The two bosses were talking calmly and quietly, and the proposal Northumberland had presented to them a week ago. What they were saying, Northumberland didn't pay attention to. She was only here to hear the answer. Everyone was delaying – all too aware that by the end of this meeting they'd either be at war or no longer associated with one another.

Northumberland raised a shaking hand and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear – her fingers momentarily brushing against the ragged piece of tartan material that she used to tie it up. She then proceeded to tug at the collar of her blouse that was much too suffocating. Sure, she'd made an effort to dress nicely for such a formal event – though her old blouse and wrinkled black trousers looked stupid beside England's perfectly ironed suit.

"Northumberland."

Jumping slightly at the voice, Northumberland turned to her boss as he looked at her with serious eyes. She knew what he meant. He was telling her that it was time – if she wanted to back out, this was her last chance.

So she stayed silent.

"Though we are saddened by it," the Prime minster said – he stood to the other side of the Queen, and constantly received glares from Northumberland. "We agree to grant Northumberland its independence."

"What?"

All eyes turned to Northumberland.

All except England's.

"We are granting you independence. You're a country now, Northumberland," the Prime minister explained.

Northumberland's wide eyes flicked over to England. He avoided her gaze.

"I see..." she murmured. "In that case, excuse me... I have to... to go speak to my... yeah..."

No one stopped her, and for that she was glad. Northumberland was able to walk out of the room without even turning back. They stayed silent as she left, as if they were waiting to talk about her once she'd left. Tugging the door open, she stepped out and slammed it behind her. People waiting outside jumped at her appearance, wondering if they should prepare for war or not.

"Northumberland...?" someone asked to her right.

Trembling, she lifted her head – trying with all her power to keep a straight face.

"Better get ready to change the welcome signs... we're a country now."

She didn't wait around for a reaction; she headed straight towards her room. To get there, she had to pass by the main staircase – at the bottom of which stood Cumbria chatting away to one of the guards. At her appearance, he flinched – as if unsure whether to run up the stairs to meet her or not. Northumberland kept walking; dropped her head so she didn't have to look at him.

As she rounded the corner and saw her bedroom door just ahead, the promise of a sanctuary finally let her begin to break. She slipped inside and fumbled with the lock until it was safely clicked in place.

She fell to the floor right there – pounding her fist against the door and grinding her teeth. Music reached her ears as her phone vibrated in her pocket. Reaching out her shaking hand, she pulled it out and stared down at the caller ID. Then, momentarily preparing herself, she pressed the green button.

"Northumberland?"

The Scottish accent filled her head and tore down the defences she'd put up.

"He... he didn't even try..."

"Huh?"

_Sniff._

"He didn't even try to fight... he didn't try to talk me out of it... he just... let me go..." Her voice shook, and it was a miracle her words weren't more muffled. "I'm really... alone..."

The dial tone perhaps hurt more than anything else Scotland could have said.

She really was alone.

How long she sat there, curled into her protective ball, crying as silently as she could, she couldn't guess. All she knew was it was after the room had darkened significantly that the small knock on her door sounded.

Cringing at the sound, Northumberland lifted her head but didn't say anything.

"Open the door, bairn."

Slowly, Northumberland pushed herself to her feet – her legs weak and cramped from sitting for so long. It actually took effort to unlock the door, but as soon as the _click _sounded, the handle was turned and a figure pushed his way into the room. Northumberland stumbled backwards to avoid being hit by the door, and squinted at the light that flooded in from the hall outside.

It only lasted a second though, for the door was shut again – sending the room back into sweet darkness as a pair of warm arms pulled her into an embrace. One that seemed too safe.

"Y' ain't never alone, bairn. I jus' need a sec t' get here," Scotland said softly as he pressed Northumberland's head to his chest.

Clutching at the man's shirt, Northumberland buried her face and wept.

The two stayed that way for a while, until Northumberland finally pulled away – too exhausted to continue crying anymore. Scotland led her over to her bed and forced her to sit down. Apologising, he took off her blouse and trousers, and then pulled the covers around her. Unable to even fight back, Northumberland's eyelids dropped and she lay silent. Scotland's fingers grasped at the tartan material around her hair and pulled it out carefully.

With Northumberland completely out, Scotland's lips tightened into a grimace and his fist clenched around the piece of tartan in his hand. It was difficult to keep quiet as he left the room of the sleeping county... no, it was _country _now... but once he shut the door behind him, he was free to storm through the corridors as loudly as he wanted.

He was lucky that discussions and formalities would take more than a day, it meant that bastard hadn't left yet. As one of the maids rounded the corner, Scotland grabbed her by the collar and ordered her to tell him where England was.

Soon, Scotland stood before his little brother's bedroom door – kicking it rather than knocking. His hands shook with anger as he tried to light a cigarette that he took from his pocket. It was just after he'd finally done it that the door opened.

"Wha... what are you doing here?" England exclaimed in surprise.

Scotland blew a puff of smoke out and stared down with cruel green eyes.

"Y' could've tried..."

"Tried...?"

"T' fight for her."

England dropped his gaze, his eyebrows narrowing. "I'm not going to start a war. She asked to become independent."

England's eyes glanced at the piece of tartan Scotland held, and his fists clenched. "Besides," he continued, "Looks like she'd much prefer your company and rule than mine."

The red-haired man grabbed his younger brother by the hair, tightened his fingers around the blonde locks of the country that thought himself to be higher than Scotland, Wales and the Irelands.

"I 'member when y' were balling y' eyes oot, over all those countries tha' left y'. Republic. America. Hong Kong. Australia. Need I go on? D' y' think y' good enough t' jus' toss them aside now?"

"If Northumberland wants to leave, Northumberland can leave, it's not my place to stop her! I will _not _start a war for my country!" England snarled at his brother, trying to prise the Scottish hand from his hair.

Seeing that his thick younger brother simply wasn't getting the point, Scotland roughly pushed him back – freeing England from his grip. Scotland scoffed and turned to walk away; unable to stand around here with the oblivious person who'd hurt so many. However, before rounding the corner, he glanced back.

Perhaps England did feel something after all...


End file.
